


Suptober Day 9: Electric

by tiamatv



Series: Promptober 2020 [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Dating, Fluff, M/M, Meet the Family, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv
Summary: Dean's a good boyfriend. He’s thoughtful about the little things, and the little things add up.But, Sam notices, his relationships never last very long.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Promptober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954990
Comments: 56
Kudos: 389





	Suptober Day 9: Electric

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, and I kind of struggled with this one; I think it shows! But here, have some hopeless schmoop to make up for yesterday.

Sam has to admit, he feels sort of sorry for Dean’s girlfriends.

It’s not that Dean doesn’t treat them right. Dean really does. Which sometimes is _shocking_ considering how his brother verbally and visually objectifies women sometimes. To a gross degree. But Sam guesses it’s one of those situations where Dean practices, he doesn’t preach.

Dean doesn’t hold chairs or doors, but he’s always got a smile, and an arm for over her shoulder, and a kiss for her cheek. He makes breakfast in the mornings. He remembers birthdays and anniversaries. (How, when half the time he can’t remember his own computer password?) He calls when he’s getting out late in the evening from the shop, because running a high-end classic auto body work requires weird hours with international phone calls to get parts from Cuba or Russia or something sometimes. If Dean gets somewhere first, he’ll always have her favorite drink ready and sitting on the bar or table and ready to go by the time she gets there.

Dean dates his way along the color wheel, but they’re almost universally very pretty to spectacularly hot. But when he’s with a girl, he doesn’t look at other girls—she’s got all his attention.

Dean’s thoughtful about the little things, and the little things add up.

But those relationships never last that long. And for all that Sam has a hard time processing it, Dean’s always the one that breaks it off, and it always seems to be over _small_ things that he loses interest.

Like tiny things. _Miniscule_ things.

She won’t eat American cheese on her burger, it’s got to be something fancy. (Sam has it on good authority that Dean _likes_ fancy cheese on burgers just as much as he likes a plop of cheddar, so why is this a problem?)

She orders her pretzels at the stadium without any salt on them. (But Dean hates baseball stadium pretzels anyway, almost as much as he finds baseball games boring. Sam thinks the only reason Dean goes to them at all with such stupefying regularity is because they make him think of Adam, who hasn’t played since he ruined his pitching arm all those years ago.)

She squishes her pie under her fork before she eats it. (Why are all of these about food, Dean?!)

She’s too cheerful in the morning before coffee. (This, from the guy who talks ad nauseum about how good morning sex is?)

She changes the radio station in Baby when they’re driving. (Okay, that one’s legit: Sam has known that was a problem since he was shorter than _Dean,_ and anyone who doesn’t know that about Dean probably shouldn’t be dating him anyway.)

It’s never the _big_ things, though. It’s never money, or politics, or friends. Dean doesn’t cheat, and he doesn’t seem to date girls who would. Dean uses body language a lot more than words, which could be a problem, but he likes girls who talk a lot and are better at expressing themselves than he is, so it’s not about misunderstandings. Sam has heard more than he’ll ever want to know about what Dean’s like in bed, and since he didn’t hear it from _Dean,_ he—reluctantly, with a small amount of horror and a robust gag reflex—believes it.

Dean’s _confident_ in his ability to keep a girl’s attention, and he dates girls who are just as confident in their ability to keep him.

Unfortunately, they tend to be wrong.

“I dunno, I guess we didn’t have as much in common as I thought,” is starting to become Dean’s mantra, after Sam finds out he’s single once again. But Sam’s brother never seems particularly broken up about it. Heck, _Sam’s_ more annoyed: over the past few years, he’s started to consider keeping a ledger to keep them straight!

(It would be a lawyerly thing for him to do. Also, creepy. He doesn’t do it.)

“I think that’s the saddest thing about it?” Sam grumbles, then raises his hands to practice signing it.

Eileen corrects him, then signs and speaks back, slowly and simultaneously. “Dean doesn’t seem that sad.” Then she accentuates each letter when she spell-signs, rather than using the more sweeping shorthand, which he appreciates—most of the common gesture-based signs he knows, by now, but he still has a tough time when she uses the quick partial symbols for the alphabet. “Serial monogamist.”

Sam still has to sound the spelling out for just a second before he realizes what she said, and barks out a laugh. “That’s probably the _nicest_ thing anyone’s called his dating habits,” he sighs. “I really thought, you know, Lisa…”

“You liked her,” Eileen observes—keen-eyed and right to the point, as always.

“Yeah, but… mostly, I got to know her,” Sam notes, sheepishly. “Most of the others weren’t even around long enough for me to remember their last names. I think Dean’s stopped introducing me to a lot of them.”

Eileen nods, thoughtfully. “What does Dean think is the problem?”

“He says they don’t have enough in common,” Sam answers, “but… I don’t know. They always seem to have a _lot_ in common.”

“Maybe not the right things,” Eileen suggests.

“Maybe.”

Sam thinks Dean’s forgotten, in the fun he has dating, how to actually get _attached_ to someone, and that might be different from just having fun. He’s not sure which idea is more worrisome: that Dean might not have realized that—or that he has, and he doesn’t care.

Or, worse: that he doesn’t _want_ to.

So he’s surprised when Dean says, on their normal scheduled Wednesday dinner, “I want you to meet Cas.”

Sam swallows his curl of spaghetti, and dabs at his mouth with a napkin. Dean rolls his eyes. “Cas?” Sam clarifies.

“Yeah.” Dean takes a swig of his beer—then another, bigger one. He’s _nervous_. That’s unusual. “Well… Castiel. Castiel Novak.” He hooks a finger into his collar like he wants to tug it, but stops halfway into the motion, and grimaces. “It’s… well, it’s about time, I guess?”

Sam, by this point, knows better than to ask “Is it serious?” It’s a guaranteed way to get to ‘guess we don’t have as much in common as we thought’ by next week. He chuckles, and tries to pretend he’s actually amused rather than a little worried. “She’s that hot, huh?”

Dean fidgets with his fork. He’s not eating. Sam thinks that should have been his first clue that something big was coming. “Uh… not… exactly?”

Sam blinks and looks up. Alright, that’s… new.

“ _He’s_ hot,” Dean tells him, and he doesn’t glance away.

Which is why _Sam’s_ the one who yips and jumps when he realizes he’s knocked over over his own glass of wine.

Huh. Well, okay then.

So. He gets to meet Castiel. _Cas_.

He’s not going to get attached, that’s all.

But… Castiel _isn’t_ this incredibly hot guy.

He’s… well. He’s kind of good-looking, Sam guesses, with dark hair, even features. Nice blue eyes—Dean always did like nice eyes—but they’ve got eyebags shading under them, and there’s no mistaking his jawline for a woman’s whatsoever, because he hasn’t shaved evenly. He’s shorter than both of them, most men are, but he also has a little stoop that makes him look even shorter.

Or maybe that’s the fact that his suit doesn’t fit right—too big—and he’s got a truly ugly beige trench coat draped over it, flapping past his knees.

He bobs his chin, and quietly says, “Hello. You must be Sam—I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sam answers, with only a hint of obfuscation, “I’ve only heard good things about you.”

He waits for the inevitable punch line to that tired joke, a rolled eye and a smirk, a quip of “Lies, all lies,” because Dean likes people who, like him, think they’re clever.

Castiel just blinks at him. After a thoughtful moment, he says, “Dean likes to tell terrible stories about you, so I know more about changing your diapers than I think anyone unrelated should. But I think secretly he’s prouder of you than he is of himself.”

What? Wow. _Okay_.

Only the years of litigating discrimination law keep Sam’s jaw from sagging at how _blunt_ that is.

Sam’s not exactly one to judge, or say anything at all about anyone’s choices—because, hey, not _his_ boyfriend, and who the heck is he to judge? But normally Dean likes girls who laugh loud and hearty and are free with a quip or a joke. He glances sideways.

The look that Dean’s giving Castiel is, in a word, _gooey_. Sam’s tough-guy big brother snorts, but rather than getting his back up, he reaches out and hooks their index fingers together. “Damned straight,” he says, firmly, to Sam’s increasing shock. “Sammy’s the one that got the brains.”

When Sam blinks at them, Dean meets his eyes and smiles, shrugging with one shoulder.

Cas and Dean are nothing alike. _Nothing_ alike.

Cas is an ecology professor at KU, and he consults for the Paris Climate Agreement. He has two _bee colonies_ in the backyard of his home.

“You know, they’re actually kind of cute,” Dean admits, when Sam can’t keep his momentary terror off his face. "Friendly, even."

“I would be very upset if you alarmed any of them enough to sting you, because they would die, and you would just be annoyed,” Castiel says, firmly, and very seriously. “But they like you. You smell good.”

“Pretty sure it’s ‘cause I smell like you.”

“Probably that’s true,” Castiel agrees, and Dean laughs and kisses his temple like that’s the cleverest thing anyone ever said.

“Oh, no thank you,” Cas says, when offered a wine menu. “I don’t drink.”

(Dean coaxes him into ordering something nonalcoholic that has elderflower syrup in it. Sam didn’t know that Dean knew what an elderflower _was_. _Sam’s_ not entirely sure what an elderflower is.)

“I really don’t have much of an opinion on most sports,” Castiel tells Sam, calmly, when Sam, scrambling for topics, comments on the Royals. “When Dean and I are at baseball games, I mostly read. He does, too.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes games are slow,” Dean agrees, while Sam’s still trying to push his jaw back up. “What was that one you just finished, sunshine? The… bioterrorist one. With all the music? You were telling me about it.”

Sam momentarily forgets that he just heard Dean call another man—a slightly grumpy, strangely solemn one—‘sunshine.’ “Do you mean _Orfeo?_ ”

Castiel arcs an eyebrow that momentarily makes Sam want to sit back in his seat, but then a small smile curls over his lips. “I couldn’t stop listening to the Jupiter symphony for awhile after finishing it,” he admits.

“Oh my God, _yes_ ,” Sam agrees, in a rush. He and Eileen read it together without realizing what it was going to be about—and he felt pretty bad about it by the time he realized just how prominently music featured in the plot. “What did you think of the biohazard scare?”

Halfway through, he realizes they’ve left Dean out of the conversation.

Dean’s just beaming at the both of them, silently, sitting back in his chair with his hand folded gently over Castiel’s.

Cas is a vegetarian. And he offers Dean some of the tomatoes in his salad, saying that they’re ‘particularly juicy.’

Dean _eats them_.

 _Okay_ then.

(Also, by the end of dinner, Sam’s decided that he’s definitely a _Castiel,_ not a Cas.)

By the time they’re ready to leave the restaurant, Sam’s thoroughly confused. But Dean seems happy enough—he always seems happy, but this is… different, somehow. Deeper and sweeter. Dean's always been affectionate, and he’s always liked to touch, but he doesn’t seem to give a damn that they’re in Kansas and, well, they’re in _Kansas,_ they're both men, and their fingers don’t stop brushing.

Sam doesn’t know Castiel well enough to tell if he’s happy. But Castiel can’t look away from Dean for long enough to keep from dropping chocolate sauce down his chin. Dean wiping it away with his thumb should have probably come with some kind of a public safety warning.

The smile that Castiel gives Dean for that is tiny, and shy, and, well… adorable, actually.

It’s weird. Not that Cas is a guy—that one still puts Sam’s head in a tailspin, because he didn’t honestly see that coming, but he can roll with that. But just how _different_ Cas is from every girl that Sam has ever seen his big brother with.

He’s not charming. He’s not sporty or fun. He doesn’t eat most of Dean’s favorite things. He’s not even… okay, as far as Sam is aware of guys in that way, he doesn’t even think that Cas is that _sexy_.

But when Sam sees the valet pull up in a little blue Prius and hand Cas the keys?

That’s when he knows his brother’s in love.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really wanted to put in an all-electric car--but I just plain couldn't see Cas driving a Tesla.
> 
> I know, it was a ridiculous amount of buildup for a pretty dumb punch line on my part. I'm so sorry! I'm sleep-deprived!


End file.
